Moments in Time: Alfred Pennyworth
by Stargazer Nataku
Summary: Moments of Alfred's life compressed into 100 word short-fics. Spans from before the Waynes' murders to after Bruce's return to Gotham.


Author's Note: I wrote these as a challenge to myself. Each ficlet is precisely 100 words, no more, no less. Comments are highly appreciated as I am not sure how well these work out at getting their points across. Thanks and enjoy!

_**Moments in Time**_

_**Alfred Pennyworth**_

_**By**_

_**Stargazer Nataku**_

_**One**_

"I appreciate this, Alfred," Thomas Wayne said as he put the stack of papers into an envelope and sealed it. "Thank you."

"Its my honor, sir," he said. "And my sincere hope it's never needed."

"Mine too, Alfred. And odds are it never will be. But it can't hurt to be prepared, can it? I don't want to leave anything to chance, particularly Bruce. And there's no one else I would feel better trusting with him, in the farfetched chance that anything should ever happen." Thomas Wayne smiled at Alfred. "I know Martha feels the same way."

"Thank you, sir."

_**Two**_

The ride to police headquarters is the longest of Alfred's life, though nothing shows on his face. The only indication anything is wrong is the speedometer on the car; the needle passed the speed limit some time ago, but he ignores that for what is probably the first time. With the ringing of the phone repeating over and over in his head, the shock at the words that followed, and the newfound weight of responsibility, he is beyond worrying about how fast the car is going.

His only thought is to get to Master Bruce as soon as he can.

_**Three**_

Alfred is in the kitchen cleaning up the remnants of dinner when soft footfalls alert him to another presence. "What's wrong, Master Bruce? Another nightmare?" Bruce nods slowly. "Well, I'll just make you a bit of hot chocolate and then we can play a game. Would you like that?" Bruce nods again. Alfred puts the kettle on and got out the cookie jar. "Chocolate chip or oatmeal raisin, Master Bruce?" Bruce shrugs. "Both then," he says, putting out some of each onto the plate. "You have the cards?" Bruce nods and shows them to Alfred, who smiles.

Bedtime can wait.

_**Four**_

Bruce is staring at the wall, and he hasn't said a word to Alfred since dinner. "Master Bruce? What's wrong?" Alfred finally asks. Bruce shakes his head. There's a long silence. "Master Bruce?"

"What happens to me if something happens to you too?" Bruce asks, his voice barely audible. Alfred rises immediately and moves to the boy, who is fighting tears. Alfred hugs him close and Bruce doesn't protest. He can't assure him nothing will happen.

"You'd live with the Dawes family," he answers. "But I mean to stay here." It's as much of a promise as he can make.

_**Five**_

Alfred feels a rush of pride as Bruce crosses the stage and takes the diploma from the principal, shaking the man's outstretched hand, his face solemn. Alfred knows what the boy's thinking, the regrets in his mind, the what-if's. There's a moment, though, when he looks out across the crowd and finds Alfred. There's a small smile and a motion with the folder he has in his hand and Alfred nods back, smiling, watching as the young man returns to his seat among the other students. Thomas and Martha Wayne would be proud of their son. Alfred knows he is.

_**Six**_

Thursdays Alfred airs the sheets on Bruce's bed, cleaning the room at the same time. He does not neglect other rooms in the manor, Alfred is too fastidious, but he's older now, and two or three weeks pass between visits to the emptiest rooms in the empty house.

When Bruce disappeared, Alfred expected ransom demands, a body found dumped unceremoniously in an alley. After weeks, months and then years, he's resigned to the fact Bruce is gone. But part of Alfred hopes, and that keeps him here, working, waiting.

Until he knows for certain, Bruce's room will always be ready.

_**Seven**_

Alfred isn't expecting the phone to ring because it rarely does. He answers it as quickly as he's able, briefly wondering who is calling. There is a full ten seconds of silence and then his name is spoken quietly into the receiver. When he hears the familiar voice on the other end, Alfred freezes in place, gripping the counter for support. For a long minute, he's robbed of words, and can only listen to the silence in his ear, tears coming into his eyes. Even stoic Alfred can't keep the tremble from his voice when he asks:

"Master Bruce?"

_**Eight**_

Since Bruce returned Alfred's felt younger, and it makes everything Bruce needs him to do easier. He is thankful for that, because there's a lot to do and he doesn't want to sit aside when Master Bruce needs his help. He's slightly offended when Bruce suggests he take a day off one Sunday morning in June. "You haven't had a day to yourself since Christmas," Bruce argues. "You deserve this." Alfred's protests fall on deaf ears, and he gives in. It's only later, when he's driving into Gotham, that he realizes it's Father's Day. He smiles, the message clearly received.


End file.
